


Coincidences, Happy and Otherwise

by JaxxCapta



Category: Gravity Falls, Original Work
Genre: Interdimensional Travel, M/M, Pining, filling in the blanks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 06:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20792408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaxxCapta/pseuds/JaxxCapta
Summary: Ford's spent a long, long time hopping between different dimensions. Sometimes by his own will, mostly because something kicked him out of his current residence. He's seen a lot of things, and had plenty of time to reflect on the actions that led him to this situation. When he meets a few new friends, he starts counting his lucky stars.(A commission for @pirably on Tumblr!)





	Coincidences, Happy and Otherwise

Ford knew there were other dimensions, sure.

Knowing, as he learned, was a far different beast from _seeing._

Some dimensions were not meant to be comprehended by the mere human mind, no matter how clever a mind that was. He took care to avoid those, but once he accidentally glimpsed the Land Of Twelve-Sided Time and spent nearly a month with varying degrees of vertigo. Still better than the Ooze Pit.

Anything was better than the Ooze Pit.

Some dimensions weren't aware of the existence of other dimensions. There, he hid out, took field notes on whatever he could find, and kept his head down while pursuing his quest. A few of these had what appeared to be humans – whatever they were, he could usually blend in if he kept his mouth shut and didn't bleed on anything.

Some dimensions knew of other dimensions. There, you heeded travelers' warnings. If they said nobody with soft flesh should enter, you and your soft flesh did not swing on over if you could help it. If they banned the sorts that liked to eat other sentient beings, you stuck around, hope you didn't qualify, and got to business. Ford found few other scholars like himself, at least not a lot willing to deal with him all up in their own ivory towers, but he did find plenty of people willing to trade interdimensional trinkets for more practical supplies. In many places, the concept of currency fell apart; there were too many systems coming in to keep track of, might as well fall back on good old bartering.

Some dimensions were self-aware. A scant few of these were good conversationalists. Most fell under the 'incomprehensible' category. In a better time, Ford could have spent eternity sitting with just one dimension, though, learning how it spoke a language in the weave of space-time. Made him wonder if all the other dimensions were just shy about themselves.

The most incredible part, though, was the ability to simply wander. Back on Earth, everything tied to tie you down. Family, jobs, homes, even academia. All wanted to keep you for their own. Yet out here, where he could -and had to - disappear from one dimension to another, nobody kept him longer than he wanted to be kept. Always on the move. Always something more to be seen, more to be done. Some days were stretches of feeling close, so close, to accomplishing something. Some days - like today, he promised himself then and there - he'd be more lax. This was an opportunity nobody had gotten before. Who was he to waste it all on an interdimensional chase? A miserable scientist, that's what. He was not a miserable scientist.

He faced the rising suns and grinned softly. Oh, if only he could have done this right, and brought Fiddleford with. Wouldn't he have loved the sights?

Some of them, at least. There had to be _some_ sights Fiddleford would enjoy. Ford could understand things like not wanting to try communicating with a sentient dimension, or wandering into territory that could be hostile if you were found out as an outsider, but there had to be something out there that would work. Something to make this worth it, something more than a project gone too far, all negatives with nothing good in sight.

His daydreaming fell apart, thread by thread, as his stomach made him well aware of its emptiness. His focus melted away, chewed up by the thoughts of breakfast. He had spent the night in a park, resting under a willow with branches thick enough the foliage concealed the world around him. But now, with the mist rising off the grass and the town ahead beginning to awaken, it was time to move. There was more to see, more to study. Something to keep him going. Even a quick conversation was worth the hop here.

He found a trail and jogged towards the town, watching the lights begin to rise. He knew there was a bakery nearby that sold slightly tangy but otherwise good croissants.

This dimension was one of the ones where the Library of Alexandria never burned. Beyond that, it was one of the ones where technology advanced precipitously, without any social factors to stop it. A smattering of wars, sure, but they served to boost the scientific fervor, not dampen it.

As many layers of a miracle this place was, Ford was mostly glad they knew how to make pastries. There were always things waiting around the corner to astound you, amaze you, or try to kill you. Sometimes you had to take a step back and appreciate the little things.

A trained bird squawked as Ford opened the door. He fed it a sunflower seed and continued towards the case of baked goods, savoring every inhale of toasty grains, melding with the abundance of sweet and savory flavors that got mixed in to the breads and pastries, or served with them. Above all that, the thick scent of cacao and chili hung in the air. It had taken him a while to get used to the Aztec-style hot chocolate served with seemingly every meal here, but now his nose ran... less. That was an improvement.

The pistachio-filled _something_ (he recognized the main language here as a variant of French, but some words still slipped his mind) tempted him, but his heart returned to the classic croissant. With a smile, some pointing, and an exchange of coins that seemed to bemuse the shopkeeper who no doubt saw most of those from children, not foreign men who were starting to pick up grays in their hair, Ford had his croissant and a cup of drinking chocolate.

He elected to sit inside, facing a window and listening in on the conversations around him. People seemed freer to talk if he didn't face inwards, even if it meant focusing more on voices and less on the view outside. Besides, if he wasn't looking at anyone, they couldn't see how the spice of the chocolate made his nose run. He always felt like a chump when someone caught his weird reactions to what they found to be totally normal things.

People went about their days all around him. They met with friends and family, grabbed bites to eat before work, and talked about all manner of things. They thought nothing of being one of multitudes of dimensions, about the little things that made everything they ever knew unique. It didn't matter to them. It wasn't _worth_ crossing their minds, not with so many more, painfully mundane things to do.

He scoffed. Of course they'd talk about family instead. That was some of the worst stuff to take notes on.

And here he was, delighting in everything he would have himself found so painful and boring if this were his home. If he went back, he wasn't going to see Earth as he knew it the same ever again. All the possible permutations it took to make it what it was, itself a unique thumbprint in multiple universes' worth of them, it was really incredible. Even if, back home, he would have been thinking about grants and car payments and whether he ought to risk coming back home for Passover that year.

In a whole lot of dimensions, the religions he'd known back home didn't exist, let alone celebrate the same holidays. Solved that problem in a fell swoop.

(He had, perhaps, experienced the most deja vu he had felt in this entire journey when he was on a world populated by raptor-like people who had somehow come up with an exact analogue of Christmas, right down to the commercialization and backlash to the commercialization that sometimes was heartfelt, sometimes was weirdly fundamentalist.)

He coughed, eyes watering as he took a bite of his croissant to dull the spice coating his throat. Soon he had finished his food and returned his dishes, thanking the staff for their service. He gave the bird another sunflower seed on his way out.

Oh, what to do today? He felt better with food in his stomach, maybe he ought to take a day and organize his notes. He could also wander around and scrounge up some more coins. He hadn't had great luck in earning money with trade nor work here, but small towns could be like that.

He started down the street, his steps brisk. He could figure it out on the way.

The sky began to fade from brilliant sunrise pink into a pale, pale blue. He kept his head down and fished around in his satchel for the snap-on sunglasses he'd bought a while back.

“Ah!” He pulled them out and with a practiced hand snapped them on, one-two, to the sides of his glasses. Much better.

A crackle of energy set his hair on end.

Now? Really? Ford cursed, picking up his pace into a quick jog. The interdimensional fabric got shifty with him; it wasn't his fault that he was thrown into the portal! It could not care less, though, and every so often tried to spit him out again. Problem was, it picked the most random dimensions, and with an infinite number of dimensions, it had not yet managed to hit upon home.

A couple times, he had managed to outrun the gaping maw of reality shredding at the seams and being tied in with another. But those were lucky chances, and he didn't feel like he had good odds today. Yet another dimension where he'd be that mysterious guy who disappeared in the middle of the road. He already had people staring at him, looking behind him, trying to find what he was running from.

Static tingled up the backs of his ankles and wrists, clamping down like cuffs. It spread to his hands, feet, up his limbs. He shouted in frustration – he had just gotten to work! He had breakfast but that was not sufficient, damn it!

The fabric of the multiverse stole the breath from his lungs. Dissolving at the atomic level felt strangely like being tickled by hundreds of thousands of tiny insect legs, existing at a scale so small your nerves barely know to register them. The first several times, it left him itching for days, red marks running up and down and sideways all over his body.

The worst part was always when it got deep, into the organs and digestive system. Nausea accompanied the tingling, everything overstimulated.

And then, multitudes faster than it had begun, it ended. Ford wheezed, feeling every micro-movement of his ribs and lungs expanding to take what felt like his first breath in years. His eyes seared, tears stinging at their corners to try and alleviate the sudden dry spell.

He pounded a shaking fist into the ground. Did the multiverse itself listen to curses laid upon it? He'd give it his all either way.

Tired from the fit and the sudden travel, he flopped into the grass. Nobody was here to see him, at least, he thought so. The grass was nice and soft; he clutched some in his hands, rubbing the blades and finding their edges inoffensive, without the silica of grass from Earth. How pleasant. For now, he would not worry about the possibility of invisible extradimensional beings. A few hunted through their various territories, but he was pretty sure he had learned their signs by now.

(There were also a number of extradimensional beings that were... less invisible, but seemed to think they were. He punched one in the nose – or what he thought was a nose - once, and quietly thanked Father for arranging boxing lessons.)

He rolled over, watching the clouds scoot by. Fat, fluffy cotton balls all pulled apart, down to the number. Cute, but he feared rain. You never knew what a place rained, and no matter where he went, not having shelter from the rain sucked at the best. Those clouds looked like they were gathering, congregating into a brewing storm. Great, was this place somewhere that got thunderstorms? He sat up, scanning the area with his heart beating its way up into his throat.

Mountains ringed the field, distant enough to be tinted blue. Trees sat in clumps and copses, all tangled roots and gnarled bark. He frowned; this place was close enough to Earth he almost believed he'd been returned home, for a given value of _home_ considering he had no idea where he was. But no, the grass wasn't like anything he knew of on Earth. Plus, he felt the ground should be... squishier... but not everywhere was the Pacific Northwest, he supposed. He had been all over the universes, and part of him still felt like if it was clear of trees, it was a trap and he'd be covered in mud and water and plant bits the moment he stepped into it.

He grunted, getting up onto his feet. His mouth pulled into a grimace. Ah, dimension hopping didn't keep him from getting old. He didn't recover from getting thrown around nearly as well as he used to. If time kept running out on him...

Watching the clouds with a suspicious eye, he made his way for some nearby trees. If this was about to get lightning-y on him, he would be in trouble, but if it was just rain? He could build a lean-to easily enough. Skills you had to pick up when you lived out of the clothes on your back, you know.

A tiny drip hit his nose and he blinked. That answered that question, in part. He had just run out of time, hadn't he? Horrid multiverse, dumping him here right as it got to raining.

The trees did not attack him as he approached, nor did he immediately get sick, or feel itchy, or anything like that. Looking close, their bark looked smooth, papery, without any little barbs waiting to get him. Also, not infested with millions of tiny horrible things. That had been a bad universe.

He produced a knife, close enough in style to a bowie knife that he'd simply thought of it as such. Wild story, how he got that one, and he truly was lucky that his rival in that universe had been just sloshed enough to fall for the absolute lies he told during that game. Don't drink and gamble, Ford had figured as he took the knife as a prize. Really, that one ought to be common sense everywhere.

Cut the branches, arrange them just so, check the sky, curse as the clouds darkened and the occasional drops grew fatter and more consistent. Work faster, try not to cut self, shake the collecting rain off of head...

Ford ducked into the lean-to as soon as he could. A few spare drips wound their way through the hastily packed branches and leaves, patting him with their unpleasant reminders that he had not had the time to make a good and proper shelter.

He scrunched himself against the tree he had built out from. What an auspicious start to a new universe this was, wasn't it?

\--------------------------

He didn't really sleep. He dozed, maybe, lulled to rest by the rain and the stress of being transported. He listened, he watched, he thought.

Often, when left with nothing better to do (he certainly wasn't breaking out his journal while it rained), his mind wandered back to the accident. What would have happened if he hadn't gotten pulled in. Sometimes, what it would have been like if the multiverse spat him out into the right place long ago. Decades, by now.

Where would he be? Still doing research? What would he be focusing on? Would he still trust Bill, still be enamored by the promise of knowledge beyond his wildest imagination? If he had never tried to built the portal, he may still well have Fiddleford by his side. What other projects would he have invited him to? Something, anything. It varied every time he drew upon the daydream. Something that would have led the two of them away from the gremlobin, or timed it just right for none of that to have happened.

Everything with the memory gun left a bitter taste in his mouth. But he knew Fiddleford, and he knew his partner would have delighted in all there was to find around Gravity Falls. And throughout the multiverse, had the portal functioned right. Had he been able to return home.

The distinct _whussh!_ of something diving into flora punched him from his thoughts. He startled, limbs flailing. He kicked the lean-to and its branches collapsed with a groan, disturbed from their precarious perch. His arms flew up in front of his face, saving him from the worst of the scratches. A few thin cuts and streaks of broken skin marked his uncovered hands. It stung, but not enough for it to have been bad. He still had medicine, the little tube shoved into some long-forsaken pocket. Small cuts, hopefully he wouldn't have to worry too hard about. Most germs that could get to him fell to the same antibiotics.

He shoved the branches aside, feeling around for his knife. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to-

He paused, and blinked. No. That was definitely not a mirage.

That was a black cat tail, sticking straight up in the air, the tip fluffed out like a bottle brush. Bandages wrapped around the majority of it – clearly someone was trying to take care of this cat, and could make bandages. So, someone was friendly to the cat. Or the cat was intelligent of its own right.

He clicked his tongue, holding out the back of his hand. Cats, he could at least understand. Provided this was a cat, thinking of, and not some kind of horrible thing with a cat tail.

Whatever it was, it creeped forwards. A small, cool nose touched his knuckle, bobbing as the creature sniffed. No biting, no sting of venom. Good signs thus far.

“Hey,” he cooed. “I'm okay with you if you're okay with me. That work?”

A small, soft, definitely cat in origin face peered from the damp grass, the creature approaching as he lowered his hand to give it room. More bandages covered its eyes, a pocketwatch dangling from a cheery red collar. Somewhat strange, maybe a little dangerous. Just enough so that Ford felt it was up-front and honest about it.

_“Waow,”_ the cat mewed, bumping its head against his hand.

He chortled, the scratches' sting fading into the background as he scratched the cat's ears and head, careful not to tug at the bandages. Whatever all the wrappings were for, he couldn't tell. The cat seemed fine, not even bothered by its eyes being covered. Though, in places like these, you could never guarantee _where_ something's eyes were.

“Were you caught out here in the rain, too?” Its fur clumped together, but was softer and drier underneath, so the cat couldn't have been out _too_ long. Perhaps it had just been in the grass? Ah, to be that small, and to have a protective fur coat. Though he would loathe waiting for it to dry. Pros and cons to everything. “Hopefully the sun comes out soon so we can dry off-”

The cat's ears perked up. Its tail shot up into a happy exclamation point, and it turned and bounded off.

Ford's stomach sank. Great. Had he been baited for something? He grabbed a couple of the sticks, hand tightening around them like they were a real weapon. His other hand sought out his knife; closer-range, but far deadlier.

Something moved in the shadows. Something big. His heart pounded, his stomach turned. Oh, that wasn't good. He almost prayed, for the first time in forever, for the mysterious interdimensional force to find him again and pull him somewhere else, somewhere not here with this mysterious, foreboding _thing_ lurking in the shadows. He staggered to his feet, eyeing anything that might have maybe moved while he backed towards the edge of the copse.

“Please don't get me killed, little cat...” he muttered. His hands felt clammy, simultaneously too warm and too cold.

Black eyes stared out at him, set in a bleached skull of a face. The creature emerged from the brush, all muscle hidden beneath thick gray fur. Eyes like a snake's dotted its shoulders, and spines erupted from its back and hind legs. Some sort of orange liquid – blood? - drooled from its neck. Had the creature been injured? Or was that just how it was?

“If you're hurt, I'll help you,” he offered, the words barely understandable. If this thing was out for him, well, he didn't know he'd make it out of this one.

He'd lived a long life, at least. Not too bad. Lots of wandering. The dream, for some folks, really, and he couldn't say he wasn't one of those sorts. Few tax payments.

The thing – his mind wanted to call it cat or wolf and couldn't decide which – stopped, and leaned its head in so close all Ford could do was stare into those impossibly dark eyes.

The first cat wound around his legs, meowing. Ford squawked, almost tripping over the poor thing in fear. It got the monster's attention and it bowed until it was eye level with the cat. The cat chirped and, while Ford watched in horror that the monster would gulp it down or something, bumped its head against the monster's.

He was marginally more afraid than he already was when the creature straightened up. It leaned in, its forehead pressing against Ford's.

He stuttered. No grand information magically flowed into his mind. Nothing seemed to be sucked out, either. It was just a head bump, like the cat had given the creature. Dumbfounded, he said the first thing that came to mind. “Do you want scratches behind the ear, too?”

The creature leaned away. Its stare betrayed nothing, but it did flick an ear. Cautiously, all too aware his hand might be bitten off but also fearing the consequences of not making good on his offer, Ford reached back.

Holy cripes, his hand just sunk in and kept going. How much fur did this thing have? Ford swore he was at least wrist-deep in the creature's fur before he actually felt the base of its ear and gave it a friendly scratch.

Hopefully the creature leaning into the touch was a good sign. Ford smiled at it and continued. At least there was one continuity between his universe and most every one he'd been to: right behind the ears was supremely soft. The creature rumbled, a deep purr almost like a small engine, and its eyes began to close.

Until the cat started bumping against Ford's shin and stretching out to reach as far up his leg as it could get, that is. He sighed, trying to bend over so he could pet the cat as well – what a travesty, to see someone else get affection, as was the way of cats – only for his back to twinge. He sucked in a curse; of course his back hurt. He could do whatever antics the day required, but as the years went by, his hair got grayer, and wrinkles creased his face, did the antics take more and more out of him.

The creature laid down with a _whumpf,_ the foliage crumpling under it. Its tail twitched, just enough to reveal more rows of teeth splicing the tail in two. Oh, wonderful, it had another, secret mouth, now didn't it? With a sigh, Ford eased himself to the ground, letting the cat make itself comfortable in his lap (now he really couldn't get up, great), and giving the two more pats and scratches.

He sighed when he heard something else rustling around. At this point, whatever it was would just have to be faced head-on. He had a cat in his lap. That was it. He was stuck. Maybe if he was lucky the creature would fend off any threats in return for the affection. Which, really, these things were strange in their domesticity. He didn't see signs of people anywhere nearby. Yet neither seemed to have any issue with him. Which, of course, was better than him being attacked by something feral. So much better.

...At this rate, he'd be covered in enough cat hair that when the interdimensional force finally did figure out where his home was, it'd spit him out with enough fuzz on him he could spin it and knit his own little souvenir or something.

The third thing crept up from behind, one white paw batting at his sleeve.

“Hey!” he said, pulling away from the intruder, who had quite thoroughly disrupted his efforts to pet the cat. “I only have two hands. Wait your turn.”

He couldn't twist very far, but it was enough to see another cat, this one white and gray, backing up, ears flattened and tail drooping. Four ears, all torn up. A scar crossed one eye, the socket empty and the lids shut. Toothlike spikes, almost like the big creature's, sprouted from the peltlike blob of gray on the cat's forelegs and back. And then there were the bigger things, like the blood-filled glass orb half-sunk in the cat's chest with bloody bandages snaking from it, or the missing leg, scarred over and the fur still missing.

“Am I in a dimension of infinite reinterpretations of what a cat is?” Ford asked, half to himself, half to the variety of – he guessed the two were catlike enough the creature might as well be a cat, too. He glanced down at the one in his lap, who curled around in a contorted circle to stare at the gray and white cat and meow at it. “I guess it could be a lot worse. Or worse cats could have found me. If you're going to sit here and make me pet you until the interdimensional force finds me again, I might as well think of something to call you.”

_Aru._

He startled, looking around on instinct. That definitely wasn't his own internal voice. He'd learned how to identify it long ago, after plenty more run-ins with telepaths. Once he calmed a little, his gaze cast over the cats. “All right, which one of you did it?”

The big cat creature flicked an ear. _Aru._

Ah. Okay. That one. Aru, apparently.

Aru tapped his – Ford couldn't place why 'he' felt right, but that was how the nature of these things were – nose against the black cat. _Marun._

And, finally, he nodded towards the gray and white cat, lurking by a tree, tail lashing. _Sim._

“Oh. Well, uh, good to know. I'm Ford, nice to meet all of you.” He felt weird, talking to cats. Was it the weirdest thing he'd done? No. Not by far. But the human mind was skilled in thinking about what other people might think, even if 'other people' were incalculably far away.

Aru stepped closer, and before Ford could ask what was going on a rough tongue scraped its way up his face, catching his ear. It left a strip of skin feeling raw and irritated, much worse so than when normal sized cats did the same thing. And his face tingled. Great. Was he allergic to this variety of cat?

“Agh.” Ford pawed at his ear, unsuccessful in dissipating the tingling. “What was that for?”

_Can you hear?_ Aru sounded far closer, and clearer, like Ford had upgraded the speakers on some sort of equipment. Except the equipment was his own senses.

“I- yeah.” Ford blinked. “What did you do?”

_It worked?_ Sim asked, starting to creep closer. The cat edged around him, daring to get close enough to examine where Aru had licked.

_It worked,_ Aru repeated, and Ford swore he was overblowing his confidence to hide an edge of surprise. Is he different?

Sim hummed. _Hair's a funny color some. Right there. _He batted at a lock of Ford's hair, much to the human's consternation.

“If you're going to dye my hair with magic spit, at least dye the gray parts.” Ford tried to pull the lock into view, with no success. He kept his hair too short. Whatever had done the job seemed to have dried, though, keeping him from getting magic cat spit on his fingers.

_Isn't it all gray?_ Sim said.

Ford heaved a sigh, shaking his head. He had done such a great job, dodging such questioning. It had to catch up to him eventually, right? Even in the form of extradimensional magic cats. “Aren't cats colorblind?”

_I see plenty colors._

...Wasn't like he could see all the colors certain other species could, either. Fine, the cat won this round.

“So. Now I can hear the three of you. Two of you, anyways. Does Marun talk?”

All three looked down at the small black cat, still stretched out on Ford's lap.

_Not while sleeping, he doesn't,_ Aru said.

Figured. He gave Marun another scratch behind the ear, chuckling at the sleepy 'mrrrp?' he got in response.

_What is your story, wanderer? You smell of distant lands._ Aru shuffled close, staring at Ford with an intensity he wanted to call bright.

“Well...” Oh, where to start? What would be safe to tell? “In short, I got shoved into a different dimension a long time ago, and I've been wandering ever since, occasionally getting kicked somewhere new by whatever's trying to keep some semblance of order.” A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “My partner, he got scared. I understand, now, but he couldn't take the stress of all our work, we hit up the wrong thing at the wrong time, and he was the one person who might have been able to bring me back home. So... here I am!” He laughed, dry and hoarse. “It's been a long, long time, let me tell you.”

Sim had crept up to him and laid down, cheek fur brushing his pant leg. A couple of his ears twitched when the story ended, and his eyes remained locked on to Ford.

“What about you three? I can't be the only one here with a story.” There had to be something interesting these group of cat-things had going on. He itched to get to his notebook, but he'd have to rely on memory for now, until he got some time alone.

Aru rumbled, rearranging his paws to rest more comfortably. _We are – or were – cats, like you said. For Marun and I, we have known the taste of death, but came back very differently. Sim, I kept alive when he was harmed most grievously._

_And now we are friends,_ Sim said.

_Yes. And now we are friends. Marun and I, we hunt daemons. _Aru nosed the small cat. _Marun, as you can imagine, can only handle the little ones thus far._

Oh? Ford couldn't help but grin, a fire lighting within him. He had known many a lucky coincidence, he needed them to survive. But this? This was like the step from surviving to thriving. If things went right, he could already see his life turning around more sharply than a motorcycle on black ice. “Demons, you say?”

_Yes._

“Let me tell you about Bill Cipher...”

**Author's Note:**

> I saw that Aru's spit caused mutations and he'd kept Sim alive, and was like, "Hey! Bet that could be handy if channeled properly."


End file.
